


Never Alone

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s02e18 All In, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the end of Episode 2.18 "All In." What if, instead of turning to leave the library, Reese had gone to stand behind Finch when Finch opened the picture of Grace on his computer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katkillalla (killalla)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killalla/gifts).



In the reflection of the computer monitor, Finch could see Reese standing behind him, silent and watching, care and concern radiating from his posture and the set of his features. Finch looked at the picture of Grace, and then at the reflection of John's face. The two people in the world that he loved.

"Mr. Reese," Finch said, his voice a little rough. "If something should happen to me, and you... survive..."

"Unlikely."

"I know."

"I'll watch over her, protect her. You know I will." John's face grew softer as he spoke.

"Yes, I do. Thank you."

Reese stepped forward and put his hand gently on Harold's shoulder, allowing himself just that much contact. He hoped Finch would interpret the gesture as sealing the promise he had just made. Reese was somewhat surprised that Finch didn't tense up at the touch but instead seemed to relax a little under his hand. He was even more surprised when Harold put his own hand on top of John's and held it there with gentle pressure. Harold reached out with his other hand and tapped a key that made the computer screen go black. They looked at each other silently in the reflection of the dark screen. After a minute, Reese spoke, his voice low and rough,

"Whatever you want from me Harold, it's yours."

"I'm afraid of what I want from you, John."

"Don't be."

More silence. Finch's thumb moved slightly, stroking the back of John's hand with tiny movements. Reese ached with a desire to spin Harold's chair around, gather him up in his arms, and hold him tight. Twice he had to stop himself from moving. Finally he said,

"You have to lead in this, Harold. I can't." He flicked his eyes to the corner of the screen that had held Grace's picture, hoping Finch would understand.

"What if I can't either?"

"I'll wait. I'm not going anywhere." There was a promise in Reese's voice, as well as his words.

Even in the dim reflection of the computer monitor, Reese recognized the expression on Finch's face, the sad little half-smile that meant he wished things were different. Finch gave the hand that rested on his shoulder a slight squeeze, and then dropped his hand into his lap.

Reese gave his friend's shoulder the same small squeeze before moving his hand and taking a step back.

"Good night Harold," he said, eyes still on Harold's reflection.

"Good night."

Reese turned to walk out of the library, and had gone a few paces when he stopped at Harold's voice,

"John?"

Reese turned and looked into Harold's eyes,

"Thank you."

Reese wasn't sure why he was being thanked, whether it was for the comfort he had tried to give, or for not pushing their boundaries any further than he had done. He gave his own tight half smile, and nodded, then turned to leave.

~~~~~~~~

Three days and two surprisingly easy numbers later (Reese had only needed to throw one punch and Finch had cracked one very poorly firewalled database), it was mid-afternoon in the library and the workday seemed to be over. Finch had dismissed Reese with the suggestion that he catch up on whatever domestic tasks needed doing and was shutting down his computer equipment.

"Would you like to join me for dinner tonight, Mr. Reese? There's a new Italian restaurant near your apartment that got very good reviews in the Saturday Times - Brancati's have you tried it?"

"No, I haven't. Sounds good."

"I'll make reservations. Meet me there at seven?"

"Sure. See you then."

Reese didn't read anything into the invitation other than Finch wanted to try a new restaurant and preferred company to a solitary dinner. Still, he showered, shaved, and dressed carefully before going out, whether out of habit or courtesy or a not-quite-suppressed bit of wishful thinking.

The restaurant was excellent, the food delicious. Finch ordered a very good bottle of wine to accompany it, and the conversation – mostly about work, of course – flowed easily between them. They worked their way leisurely through appetizers, main course, dessert, and coffee with brandy.

"This is nice," said Reese, finishing a last forkful of tiramisu and washing it down with a small sip of coffee. At Finch's slightly puzzled expression, John waved his fork to indicate the two of them and the meal and explained, "Having a pleasant dinner with my friend. It's almost like being a normal person for a few hours."

"Well, perhaps we should do it more often, then."

"Perhaps."

Finch called for the check and insisted on paying. Reese didn't make an issue of it. He had no pride to wound when it came to Finch and his money.

"Let's walk for a bit, Mr. Reese." Finch suggested as they left the restaurant, and Reese immediately noticed the slight tension in Finch's frame as they set off down the sidewalk in the direction of Reese's apartment. Reese knew Finch was worried about the machine, and what the virus that Kara had unleashed might be doing to it. They walked toward a pay phone, and Reese automatically glanced around, looking for a surveillance camera. He saw Finch watching him.

"Expecting a new number, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked.

"Aren't you?"

"We'll see." Finch gestured at a camera across the street as they came abreast of the phone, and both men slowed their pace. The phone didn't ring. Reese waited to see if Finch was going to stop, but he didn't and once they were past the phone he picked up his pace again. Reese fell in easily beside him, having long ago become perfectly attuned to the rhythm of Finch's halting stride. If anything, the tension in Finch increased slightly. Reese wondered if there was something wrong, if there was something Finch wanted to talk to him about but was hesitant to broach.

Reese thought he did a fair job of concealing his surprise when he felt Harold's hand grasp his. He immediately looked around for threats, assuming Finch was trying to signal that something was wrong. The pressure with which Finch was holding his hand was constant, and he was looking straight ahead, Reese couldn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary on the street around them.

"Finch?"

"Take me home, John." Again Reese scanned the area for threats. Why did Finch want to get off the street, to safety, and why couldn't he say it out loud? What had Finch seen or heard that he had missed?

"What is it Harold?"

"You told me to lead, so I'm leading. Take me back to your place."

A wide grin spread across John Reese's face.

"OK," he said, and squeezed the hand that was holding his a little bit tighter. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes."

"Is this..." Reese paused, trying to figure out a polite way to phrase it, "Have you..." and stopped again.

"Are you trying to ask me if I have previous experience of same-sex relations?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"You are a considerate man, John, and I know you care for me a great deal. I simply assumed that you would want to know if you were going to be... deflowering a virgin. You are not. It was a long time ago, but I have had an intimate relationship with another man."

"I suppose you don't need to ask; it must be in one of my files somewhere."

"Your military file is mute on the matter."

"Thank 'Don't ask, Don't Tell' for that."

"Your CIA file on the other hand, includes your psycho-sexual profile, and the details of an investigation that concluded that while you had regularly engaged in... ahem... 'stress relief' in the field with fellow soldiers, you were not a practicing homosexual."

"By the time the CIA got hold of me, I wasn't practicing much of anything."

"There is something I would like to know, you don't have to answer of course, as it really is none of my business..."

"Go ahead."

"Besides Ms. Morgan..."

"No one else Finch, not since we've known each other. Not for a long time."

"Well, I suppose it's like riding a bicycle." There was a pause, and then they both laughed a little at the unfortunate double-entendre.

~~~~~~~~

They arrived at Reese's apartment building and rode the elevator up together in companionable, if slightly tense, silence. Reese let them into his apartment, took Finch's coat, and hung it up in the closet. While he was doing that, Finch limped over to the big loft windows, and stood looking out at the city.

Reese came up behind him and gently put his hand on Harold's shoulder, using the same gesture he had in the library a few days earlier, when it was meant only for comfort. This time Harold turned towards him, took a half step closer, and tilted his head up as far as he could to look into his friend's eyes,

"Kiss me, John."

Reese lowered his head. The kiss was soft and sweet and gentle, slow and warm and almost chaste. Reese slid his hand to cup the back of Harold's neck, and felt Harold slide a hand across his cheek. He pulled back a bit to look into Harold's eyes, seeking confirmation, permission to continue. He saw trust and desire. Reese dipped his head again and this time kissed Harold more firmly, lips slightly parted. After a moment he felt the first, tentative brush of Harold's tongue across his lower lip, and he slipped his tongue out past his teeth in reply, reveling in his first taste of Harold. It was still a slow gentle exploration, and after a few minutes, Reese pulled back once more.

"Thank you, Harold."

"What for?"

"That was my first time doing that. Thank you for making it perfect."

"I don't understand."

"Stress relief in the field between soldiers runs to mutual hand jobs, and the occasional blow job or a hard, fast fuck against the wall of a supply shed or bent over the hood of a jeep. I've never kissed a man before. Never held a man in my arms or been naked in bed with a man. Never been touched gently, the way you're touching me now."

"I didn't realize..."

"I know, that's why I'm telling you. I wanted you to know. It's also why I need you to lead."

"I will, if you're sure this is what you want."

"I'm sure. Very sure. I... care for you, Harold."

"And I you. Kiss me again, please John."

Confident now, that Harold would lead him, guide him, tell him what he wanted, John relaxed, and let himself give in fully to the sensation of holding Harold in his arms, kissing him, caressing him.

One of Harold's hands slipped into John's hair, carding through the short graying strands at his temple again and again. John let one of his hands drift down Harold's back to cup a small, firm buttock. Harold's hips bucked forward a little and the tiniest of moans came from his throat, muffled by John's mouth so that he felt as much as heard it. Harold pulled his mouth away.

"Is being naked in bed together something you are amenable to, John?"

"Yes." John's voice was low and gravelly and the thought sent a spike of desire through him. He started to move towards the bed, but Harold pulled him back.

"There's something I'd like to do. Something I've been thinking about for quite some time." He raised his hands to the buttons of John's shirt. "May I?"

John didn't trust his voice even with the single syllable so he nodded instead, looking deep into Harold's eyes for a moment. Harold began to slowly unbutton the white dress shirt, revealing more and more of John's chest. Harold's attention was rapt, and John wanted to say something about Harold having seen him undressed before, but he still didn't trust his voice. He swallowed as Harold spread the fabric wide and leaned in to touch his lips to John's collarbone.

John closed his eyes as Harold kissed and licked and nipped at the skin just under his collarbone, on the hollow of his throat. His arms tightened around Harold and he let out a low rumbling moan. He felt Harold's hips buck into his, cock hard and insistent under the fine wool of his suit pants. John slipped one hand into Harold's hair, and bent his head to kiss the side of Harold's face.

"About being naked in bed together," John murmured into Harold's ear.

Harold gave the spot on John's neck one last nip and pulled back.

"Indeed, that would be most... efficient."

John took Harold by the wrist and led him to the bed at the other end of the loft. Harold grinned up at him mischievously, then sat down on the corner of the bed and started to methodically take off his shoes and socks. John watched for a moment, entranced, and then made a quick tour of his apartment, locking up and turning off lights and phones. By the time he was back by the bed, Harold had arranged his shoes neatly under a chair and draped his waistcoat and shirt over it. His hands were at his belt. John gave a grin of his own and stripped efficiently, tossing his own clothes into a corner while he watched Harold continue to undress.

Harold ignored John's gaze, but his ears went a little pink under the scrutiny. Still, he stripped down completely, and then turned his back, moving to the head of the bed and turning down the covers. John watched the halting stride, the pert, tight buttocks, the narrow back and shoulders. He ached to put his hands on Harold's skin, so he moved around to the other side of the bed and climbed in.

Leaning on one elbow in the middle of the king-sized bed, John said,

"Make yourself comfortable."

Harold stretched out on his back, arms at his sides, head propped up on a thick pillow.

"How's this?"

"Perfect." John moved over, at first still lying on his side and laying his palm flat in the middle of Harold's chest, and then sweeping down slowly and gently to touch and stroke. John was keeping himself tightly under control, no matter how badly he wanted more right now, he limited himself to these gentle touches, waiting for some signal from Harold.

"Is that all you want?" Harold asked without a hint of censure or disappointment in his voice.

"No, it's not all."

"What do you want?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you want from me, Harold, it's yours," he said, repeating the words he had used in the library three days before.

"I want to know what you're dreamed about, what would make you happy. What I can give you," Harold said.

"Just being here, you're giving me more than I ever expected."

"Please answer the question, John."

"I want to make you come. I want to watch while you come with my hands on you. I want to sleep next to you and make you breakfast tomorrow morning. I want to know I'm not alone anymore."

"You haven't been alone in a long time, John. A very long time. Come here."

Harold tugged, and John straddled Harold's body, bracketing it with knees and elbows. He leaned down and took Harold's mouth in a deep kiss, and then said,

"Tell me what to do. What you want. What will make you feel good."

One of Harold's hands found John's hip and pulled their groins together. Two hard cocks bumped and rubbed.

"Just that, for now. Let me feel you against me. Give me that."

John supported himself on powerful arms and thigh muscles and rubbed up against Harold like a cat. Harold grabbed a handful of buttock and used it as leverage to thrust his hips upward, seeking more pressure, more contact. John moaned.

Harold's other hand snaked into John's hair and pulled his head down, bringing their mouths together again before whispering into John's ear,

"One day soon I'll ask you to fuck me. To take me, hard, so I can truly feel your strength and your power."

John moaned again, impossibly turned on by the image of fucking Harold.

"Yes. Like that. Just like that. Come for me John, I want you to come for me."

"Harold..." It was a strangled gasp as John rubbed harder and faster, hot, hard cocks sliding against each other between taut stomachs.

"Yes, John. Yes." Harold bucked his hips up again, increasing the pressure and the friction.

John gasped again and started to come, moaning quietly as he did, continuing to thrust through the sticky wetness.

"Yes. John." Harold's body went taut, and he let out a small sigh as his own orgasm overtook him.

John looked down at Harold, at the small, satisfied smile on his face, and felt at peace for the first time in as long as he could remember.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing Harold's forehead.

Harold's eyes opened.

"And I love you. As much as I love Grace, as much as I loved Nathan. Don't every doubt that, John. Don't ever doubt how important you are to me." 

"I know. You showed me once, on a rooftop."

"I've lost too many people to let you go without a fight."

"I know, but someday you may need to. I... Please don't ever sacrifice yourself for me, Harold. I couldn't live with it if you did. Please promise me that."

Harold looked up into John's eyes with love and trust and understanding.

"I promise. But I'll always try to save you, if I can."

"That's fair. Because you know I'll always try to save you, too."

"I'm glad we got here," Harold said, and stroked his thumb across John's cheek to make his meaning clear. "I would have regretted it if we hadn't."

"I'm glad too. Thank you. For taking the chance."

Harold pulled John down and John slid to one side to avoid putting too much weight on Harold's slender frame. But then he gathered Harold into his arms, holding him close, and kissing the top of his head again and again.

"You're not alone, John," Harold whispered, wrapping his arm around John's broad shoulders. "You'll never be alone again."

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader, Destination Toast!


End file.
